


Locks of Plenty

by mattzerella_sticks



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crack Treated Seriously, F/M, Fluff and Crack, Hexed Dean, Hippie Bobby Singer, Hippie Castiel, Hippie Dean Winchester, Humor, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Long-Haired Dean Winchester, M/M, Marijuana, OOC Dean Winchester, Openly Bisexual Dean Winchester, Post-Season/Series 05 Finale, Prankster Dean Winchester, Prankster Sam Winchester, Retirement, Sam Has Regrets, Sam never went into the cage, Spells & Enchantments, There was no civil war in Heaven, hunts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 08:19:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16677970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattzerella_sticks/pseuds/mattzerella_sticks
Summary: Canon Divergent from Season 5Sam's tired of Dean making fun of his hair. So he's going to show him that long hair is the only way to go. Although like most well-laid plans, it doesn't go like he wants it. With unexpected consequences, Sam has to fix things. But is it really as bad as he thinks?





	Locks of Plenty

**Author's Note:**

> So this came to me after wondering what it would be like if Sam and Dean switched hairstyles, and then remembered Jensen had long-ish hair when he was younger. So what if Sam pranked Dean by giving him long hair?
> 
> The idea snowballed from there.

            “Dammit, Dean!” Sam glared into the mirror, fingers hovering over his hair; more specifically, the patch that was smeared in pink bubblegum. He poked at it, face reddening as he heard Dean’s faint laughter through Bobby’s paper-thin walls. ‘ _We only got here last night, when did go out and get this?_ ’

            They had pulled into Bobby’s place a little after midnight. Sam parked the car in front of the house, and then turned to Dean. “All right, we’re here.” He shook him, startling him out of slumber. “Come on, Bobby probably wants to turn in.”

            Dean rubbed at his eyes. “Ol’ bastard’ll probably be up for another three hours.” Still, he followed his brother, both carrying their bags inside for a small break between hunts.

            ‘ _A break we’ve needed for a long time…_ ’ It had only been four months since they averted the Apocalypse, locking both Lucifer and Michael in Hell. The battle wasn’t without its sacrifices, though, as their half-brother Adam was also sealed away. “It could have been both of you,” Castiel said, after patching them up, “If you didn’t overpower Lucifer when you did, Sam, you’d be suffering the same fate.” Sam barely got sleep two weeks after the battle, too concerned on what might have been.

            “Focus on the hunts for now, Sammy,” Dean told him one night, after a powerful nightmare, “we can vacay later. We’ll keep on doing our job until you say so, okay?” Sam was grateful, that Dean stayed by his side; that he wanted to still travel with Sam even after almost causing the end of the world. “You didn’t,” he said softly, “that’s all that matters.”

            Except now that his hair has been compromised, he would drop Dean to the side of the road for a _nickel_. He storms out of the bathroom. “Dean!” His brother sits with Bobby, empty plates and half-filled coffee mugs in front of him. He’s feigning innocence with a poorly concealed smile. “Dean, I swear I’m going to get you back!”

            “Oh would you lighten up princess,” he scoffs, looking to Bobby, “it’s just hair, don’t know why he’s getting so worked up over it.”

            “Just because _you_ can’t grow anything past a buzz cut doesn’t mean you get to punish me.” He smirks, crossing his arms. “You’re just jealous.”

            “ _Jealous? Ha!_ ” Dean slaps his knee. “My hair’s fine, thank you very much. I don’t let it grow because long hair is _stupid_ on men. You’ll never see _me_ with hippie hair. In fact, I think I need to get it _cut_ soon.”

            Revenge is a dish best served by your enemies on a silver platter, because Dean gave Sam the perfect idea for _his_ prank. He spun on his heel, and out of the room. Sam could hear the other’s talking. “Look what you did, ya idjit.” It was followed by a rough smack and a groan. “He’ll be fine. Give him some peanut butter and ice and he’ll be same ol’ Sammy.” He left them, stalking over from the kitchen towards Bobby’s library.

            ‘ _Please have what I need_ ,’ he thought while scanning the shelves, searching or a certain book. Sam pulled out a few that might look interesting, then sped out and up the stairs towards his room, locking the door.

            On a nightstand, there was a jar of peanut butter and a note. _Hope this helps_ – _Bobby_. Sam smiles. “At least someone has decent manners in this house…” He swaps the books with the jar, spreading some of it on his hair before sucking the excess off his finger. “Hmm, _creamy_.” With that set, Sam moved on to his research.

            Three books in and he was not closer to his goal. He closed his fourth book with a sigh, resting his forehead on it. “Come on, it has to be in here…” There was one book left, and Sam hoped he’d find an answer.

            Halfway through, he did.

            The words were faded, but Sam could make out enough of the words. He wrote all he needed in a notebook, double-checking before getting up. He murmurs to himself, “Hopefully Bobby has all I need…” Sam exits his room. Cautiously, he checks for any sign of Dean.

            “He went out to get some beer,” Bobby tells him, eyes never straying from his newspaper, “Is the gum gone yet?”

            Sam blushes, touching the peanut-y spot. “I’ll check now. Got a bit… carried away with something…”

            “As long as you don’t maim your brother, I don’t wanna know,” he says, flipping to the next page, “I want no part in your shenanigans.” Sam understands. He leaves Bobby to go clean his hair.

            ‘ _And once I’m done with this_ ,’ he thinks, ‘ _it’s spell-time.”_

            Dean grins at him as he walks in. “Well would you look at that, Bobby? Princess Samantha is finally roaming the halls… Got lonely without any of your mice or birds to talk to?” Sam huffs, plopping down onto the couch and splaying out. “Come on, Sammy, your hair looks fine now –“

            “Would you shut it, Dean,” Bobby nudges him, “you’re interrupting the game! It’s almost over.” His brother rolls his eyes, but sits back in his seat. Dean had been out much later than he was supposed to, only coming back with two cases of beer after Bobby made dinner. “You can microwave it yourself,” he said, shoving the chili into his hands. Sam left them for his room, waiting for his moment to strike.

            And here, on Bobby’s comfy couch, watching sports and digesting chili, was perfect. He only had to wait for his uncle’s eyes to start drooping closed. The game had ended for a good two minutes when they heard Bobby start snoring. “Thank fuck,” Dean sighed, reaching for the remote, “I was nearly crying over how boring that was.” He starts flicking through channels, as Sam readies the dust.

            ‘ _Blow the powder into your target’s face when they’re at their most relaxed_ ,’ the book said, ‘ _And say this incantation_.’

            “Somnum Parere Voce Mea!” It blew all over the couch. Dean coughed, whirling on Sam, expression tinged in red. But just as soon they were smoothing over into a blank mask, the spell taking hold of him. He slumped over, eyes vacantly staring forward, waiting.

            “Now when I snap my fingers, you will fall asleep,” Sam starts, remembering the words he wanted to use. The spell called for specifics, as any room for interpretation could mean wildly different results. “When you wake up, you won’t remember me tossing the powder in your face. Instead, you’ll want to go look in the mirror. When you do, you will find you _hate_ short hair, and have _never_ liked short hair. Seeing your own short haircut will fill you with a deep, intense desire for longer hair. You’ll want to grow it out, and have long, flowing hair, never getting a buzz cut again. You’ll have nothing negative to say about long hair ever again. …In fact, you will think long hair on men is _cool_ , and proudly call yourself a ‘ _hippie’_. Nod if you understand me.” Bobby starts to stir, but he ignores it in favor of watching Dean move his head up and down, slowly. “All right. Have a good night’s rest, then.” He snaps his fingers, Dean slumping even further into himself. Sam, feeling a pang of kindness, adjusts him so he rests with his back flat on the cushions, legs draped over Bobby’s prone form. ‘ _Wow he’s out like a log_ …’

            Sam leaves them, returning to his bed to have his most restful sleep since locking the devil away.

* * *

             He awakes, stretching languidly, a bright smile on his face. ‘ _Time to see how **Dean** is feeling…_’ Sam glides his way down the steps, passing a still peaceful Bobby on the couch and over to the bathroom. Inside, Dean frowns at his reflection, tugging on his hair. “Hey, Dean,” he says, leaning against the doorframe, “What seems to be the problem?”

            “I don’t know, I’m… I think I’m tired of this cut, Sammy.” He drops his hands, turning to him. “Has my hair always looked so… _lame_?”

            Sam nearly snorts, the excitement too much. “Lame? I thought you liked short hair.”

            Dean scowls at the accusation. “It was _practical_ but… I don’t know. You’ve been managing fine and – and it looks really _awesome_.” He preens at the compliment. “Maybe I could let it grow a few inches, see if it’ll look okay?”

            “It’s your hair, Dean,” Sam says, clapping a hand on his shoulder, “You can do whatever you want with it. Although, I think you’d work well with long hair.”

            “You really do?” Dean relaxes, grinning, “Aw hell, Sammy. That means a lot coming from you.”

            Sam takes pride in how well the spell work, wondering just how far he should take it. ‘ _Maybe let it hang over his ears, take some pictures, even get some video of him gushing over how long it is?_ ’ There’s limitless potential with this prank. “Come on,” Sam says, jerking his thumb behind him, “Let’s go help Bobby up and see if we can’t whip something up for breakfast.”

            “Pancakes?”

            “Definitely.”

            They head back towards the living room, still talking about their hair, only to find Bobby already awake and heading their way. “Mornin’ Bobby,” Sam says, “Where’re you off to?”

            “Bathroom.” Bobby pushes past the brothers and towards where they left, shutting the door firmly behind him.

            He shrugs at Sam. “Must be the chili?” They laugh, moving into the kitchen to get started on their meal.

* * *

             Dean’s hair looks much better. They already had a head start, since Dean had already put off using their trimmers for a while, too lazy to commit to cutting his hair. And in the afternoon after the spell, they went shopping for any products that would speed up growth. They found a shampoo, normally for balding men would use, that Dean liked, along with some vitamins to strengthen his follicles. He only needed to wait, then.

            Two months of washing his hair twice, daily, later, and he was already brushing strands behind his ear. He’s grinning, checking himself out from all angles. “Now this is what I’m talking about…” Dean plays with his bangs, swooping them every which way before settling on a middle part.

            Sam watches him with a too-wide grin, phone raised high to take as many pictures as he could. “You were made for long hair, Dean.”

            “Yeah, don’t know why I ever shaved it…” He smirks, finally tearing himself away from the mirror. He roots around his bag for a beat before whooping, tugging their razor out from its container. “Don’t think I’ll be needing this anymore.”

            “Wait, Dean,” Sam grabs for his arm, “That’s… it looks pretty expensive. Are you _sure_ you want to toss it out?”

            Dean raises a brow at him, scoffing. “There ain’t going back to a life with short hair anymore. That garbage haircut is gone, and _this_ deserves the same treatment.”

            He thinks about what he should do. Dean tossing out his razor would be hilarious, and when Sam finally breaks the spell it’ll serve for an even funnier expression of outrage from Dean. But it was also expensive, and has been with them since John bought it the year before he started school. ‘ _Although I haven’t used it much now_ ,’ he thinks, ‘ _And we can always swipe a new one. Use a fake credit card or… what, two – three pool games? It’ll be worth it_.’ Sam releases him, gesturing towards the trashcan. “Go ahead.”

            Dean chucks it in, high-fiving Sam as it crunches against the cheap plastic barrier. He then diverts his focus towards the phone in his hands. “Ooh, good call. I’m gonna have to update my fake IDs… I’ll go put my suit on!” Scooping up his bag, Dean heads into the bathroom, already shrugging out of his shirts.

            Sam collapses onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. ‘ _I can still let this ride for a few more weeks… right?_ ’

* * *

             They were in a crowded bar for the night. Sam nursed a beer by his lonesome, glaring daggers across the room as Dean flirted with another woman. ‘ _I didn’t even want to go out_ , _and the second he can he **ditches** me. Jerk…_’ He finishes off his drink and orders another one. Just as the bartender slides it over to him, he hears a light flapping to his left.

            “Hello, Sam.” Castiel sits, as rumpled as always, in Dean’s empty seat.

            “Hey Cas,” he says, “What brings you down to Earth?”

            The angel smiles, “Orders.” Sam rolls his eyes, but holds up another finger to get him a drink. Once they both have a bottle, Castiel continues. “My garrison and I had just finished destroying one of the last remaining sects of demons on Earth.”

            “You’re really making up for lost time, aren’t you?” After the fiasco with Michael wanting to jumpstart the Apocalypse, Heaven cracked down on its order. Raphael led the charge, rooting out any angels who might have had allegiance towards Armageddon and banished them to Earth, graceless. After that, they reopened the gates and took a more hands-on approach to the world’s problems. Heaven had an army, and they used it to keep demons from causing too much harm.

            “We feel there is much to fix due to our extended absence,” Castiel tells him, “And from now on will remain ever vigilant.”

            “Oh, hey – Cas, buddy! When did you get here?”

            Dean joins them, his arm around a petite redhead in a low-cut tank top and leather miniskirt. She leans heavily against Dean’s chest, stroking the loose strands of Dean’s hair. He’s grown it down past his scruffy chin, and it’s almost reached his shoulders. Sam knows it’s longer than he anticipated – ‘ _Longer than **my** hair!_’ He wanted to call the prank off a few weeks ago, except the notebook with the spell in it was damaged after an aggressive ghoul attack. Now, six months since the spell, he’s unsure of what to do next.

            Castiel blinks at Dean, staring unabashedly. “Dean, it’s been… your hair -?”

            “Oh, right, I forgot – you haven’t seen me this _cool_ ,” he smirks, turning to the woman, “Babe, who’d you say I looked like again?”

            “Jax Teller from Sons of Anarchy,” she giggles, “if you slicked your hair back _just_ right, you’d fit in with a rockin’ motorcycle gang.”

            Dean huffs a laugh, whipping a few stray hairs out of his face. “Motorcycles ain’t got nothin’ on my _Baby_. Let me show you.” He claps a firm hand on Cas’s shoulder. “I’d ask if you wanted to join, dude, but I need you to keep an eye on grumpy over here.” Dean winks, walking out with his date for the night.

            Castiel turns to him, frantic. “What happened to Dean?”

            ‘ _This could be your chance_ ,’ Sam thinks, ‘ _tell Cas, and he could use his mojo to break the spell you cast. It’s been too long already!_ ’ “It’s the new-and-improved Dean Winchester, just like the old model but with some updates.”

            “I’ll say… his hair is _different_. Far longer than I thought he was comfortable with.” The way Cas tilts his head makes it hard for Sam to lie to him.

            He still does. “I did, too. But he had a change of heart and decided to grow it out. Says he’s done trying to please ‘ _the man_ ’ by cutting his hair.”

            “And that’s not the… only thing that’s changed, has it?”

            Sam sighs, nodding. Dean’s outlook on his hair wasn’t the only aspect of Dean he messed with. He blames it on a poor choice of words. ‘ _Proudly call yourself a hippie_ ’ was a last-minute joke – ‘ _adding insult **to** injury_’ – not a call to arms. It wasn’t that noticeable, early on, but as Dean’s hair got longer, the signs appeared more frequently.

            His wardrobe wasn’t of any concern at first. He broke up the flannel with a few Baja hoodies, and wore more graphic shirts. Sam _did_ double take when he saw his brother in a green tie-dyed tee and cargos. “I thought you were against shorts?”

            Dean shrugged. “They’re comfy. And look, Sam,” he pulls the shorts out, “extra _pockets_.” If that wasn’t bad enough, his brother had already started wearing flip-flops during his down time.

            Then there was Baby. Dean still cared for her, but in a new way. “Check out these beaded seat cushions, Sam,” Dean said, two wood-beaded curtains draped across his arms, “Baby’s gonna look so _fine_ with these.” “Hey Sam, listen to this,” he slipped a tape in, grinning as a heavy guitar riff started, “This guy was just _selling_ these. I bought a whole _box_. They’re in the trunk, but – _Jerry Garcia_ , man!” “You smell that, Sam?” he asked, flicking at a new air freshener, “ _Patchouli_. To cover up your awful burrito farts!”

            It was the huge character shifts that really caught Sam’s attention. One that sticks out clearly for him was during a hunt. They had split up, following two different leads on a vengeful spirit’s earthly tie. Sam ended up drawing the short straw, being tossed around by the ghost before burning the leather wallet he was tethered to. He tried to call Dean; to check in, tell him the hunt was over, but there was no answer.

            Hours had passed without word from him, until Dean snuck into their motel room late into the night. He was barefoot, boots in hand, and a flower dangling from out his ear. “Sorry, dude,” he grinned sheepishly, “I was on my way to the storage unit when I saw this drum circle at the park. You should’ve been there, the vibes were totally off the charts!” Sam could barely get a word past his horror and frustration. “Anyway, I got paint in places you don’t even wanna _know_ so…” He fled to the bathroom.

            That was the night Sam tried to undo the spell, and when he realized he couldn’t.

            “He’s trying new things,” Sam says, “I think maybe the whole ‘world almost ending’ thing made him reconsider a few choices.”

            “Like… who he takes to bed?”

            Sam rolls his eyes. ‘ _Of course that’s what he’s concerned about._ ’ He wasn’t blind, aware of Castiel’s preferences and favoritism. How every time he’d speak with Dean he’d lean just a few inches closer. ‘ _Probably came to check up on **Dean** …’_ Sam thinks about telling Cas of the time he caught Dean kissing a man. He’d spent the day at the library, doing research, only to come back to their motel and found Dean’s progress was with something else entirely. “Since when have you been into guys?”

            “Always?” Dean scoffed, still in bed while his guest scurried around the room, picking up his discarded clothing. “Dude, relax. There’s nothing wrong with it, I mean – love’s free, _right_?”

            ‘ _Nah, better not_ ,’ Sam decides, ‘ _might make him jealous._ ’ “Yeah, he’s discovered a… freer side to himself.”

            Castiel glances down at his drink, fiddling with the neck of his bottle. He doesn’t look at Sam when he asks, “And this is all because he grew his hair out?”

            ‘ _No, because I pulled a prank that **backfired** on me._’ “Yeah, I think once he did that everything else just… fell into place.” An idea comes to mind. ‘ _Don’t do it, you’re only digging yourself a deeper hole_.’ “Have you ever considered long hair, Cas?”

            The angel startles, staring wide-eyed at the younger Winchester. “No… not really,” he admits. “When angels enter vessels we… put everything on pause. Bodily functions cease as we use our hosts to carry out missions.” Castiel turns away, pouting. “But with Jimmy gone… this is _my_ body, now isn’t it? I never considered altering how it looked.”

            Sam offered him a pitiable smile. “Dean isn’t the only one who can go through a change.”

            Castiel met Sam’s eyes and mirrored his expression, albeit smaller. “Thank you, Sam.” Then, without warning, Castiel’s hair started growing. Sam leaned back, wary to make a sound. No one else in the bar was watching them, and he didn’t want them to start. When he was done, Sam realized that Castiel’s hair was somewhat wavy. They cascaded down the back and over his ears. Unlike Dean, the angel didn’t have a part, as all his hair was pushed back. “How does it look?”

            ‘ _Didn’t know angel grace worked as a volumizer, too._ ’ “It looks great,” he tells him, “you wanna see?” Castiel nods. Sam takes his phone out and snaps a picture, showing it to him.

            He hums. “I never saw the purpose of long hair… until now.” Castiel threads gentle fingers through his hair. “I like it.”

            “Good.”

            “Maybe I’ll go see what Dean thinks of it.” He disappears with another flap, leaving Sam along again.

            The bartender walks over to him. “Your friend leave?” she asks, “He pay the bill?”

            ‘ _Deeper hole_ …’ he thinks as he hands her the money. 

* * *

             Sam skids Baby to a stop in front of Bobby’s, not even turning the engine off before climbing out. Dean was right on his tail, sandals whacking with each step he took. “Dude, why’re you being so agro? Thought you’d _want_ this!”

            There was a time where Sam would have, gladly, agreed with Dean’s idea. But he cannot agree with Dean’s plans while he’s under a spell. Because if he weren’t, he would never suggest that he and Sam _retire_ from hunting.

            ‘ _It’s not like we’ve been doing a lot of it anyway, recently, but – still_.’ They had a huge dry spell in terms of hunts. Sam wasn’t complaining, preferring the peace. Gave him time to discover hobbies and read. The vacation they _deserved_ after saving the world. He had started researching _interesting_ and _non_ - _monster_ related things for fun, like True Crime blogs and stories. One time they had stayed in a town for a month without _any_ sign of the supernatural. It was the life he dreamed of having when he was young.

            But then Dean bursts his bubble, revealing why it’s all been quiet. “I just… stopped looking,” he said over lunch, “y’know, the whole hunting and killing thing was really harshing my mellow. Besides, it hasn’t been easy for us anyway.”

            He’s talking about himself. On their most recent – ‘ _and **last**_ ’ – case, Dean could barely pose as any sort of federal agent. His thick hair rested comfortably past his shoulders, and his beard was totally unkempt. Dean broke all the dress codes Sam flirted with each time he put on a suit. Sam made him backup for when they located the vamp’s nest and took it down.

            After Dean’s confession, any excuse Sam could think of to not break the spell dried and withered away.

            ‘ _If only I could have found a way to do it…_ ’ The spell he used from Bobby’s archive was not a part of any database he looked into. He would have checked library records; see if a copy existed anywhere else. But he couldn’t remember the book’s name, and Bobby wasn’t picking up. ‘ _Although I have been ignoring him… if he saw Dean he would have **known** something was up!’_ And Dean already was no help, getting into who-knows-what trouble and corrupting an Angel of the Lord.

            Sam walked in on them once, making out, the room filled with smoke. He scrunched his face in disgust. “What in the – Dean, Cas? What are you two doing?”

            They turned towards him, blinking lazily. “What’s it look like we’re doing, Sammy? _Scrapbooking?_ ” Dean asked, Castiel giggling into his side.

            The holy tax accountant get-up was nowhere to be seen. “Dean said I’d feel more comfortable in this,” Castiel told him one day, after popping into their room from nowhere. He was in a loose blue linen shirt and dark grey slacks, sans shoes.

            “Trust me, Sam,” Dean said, after Castiel left, “It’s a total upgrade. The dude’s loosened up a lot. Really digging it.”

            So after exhausting all his options, Sam turned to his last resort. Which is why he bursts into Bobby’s without even knocking. “Bobby, it’s Sam. I know it’s been a while but we need your – what the _fuck_?”

            The main room is nothing like Sam remembers. Bobby kept his rooms in an organized chaos, with books and furniture and knick-knacks piled on top of each other. There was order somewhere woven in, but only Bobby knew. Although as Sam frantically looks around, it’s all been wiped away. There were weird paintings hanging on the walls, as well as sculptures made from scrap metal and car parts. And the rugs have been replaced with old, dirty tarps. Nothing about the room would hint that a hunter lived there.

            ‘ _I know it’s been a year but it shouldn’t have changed **that** much!_’

            “Dude,” Dean gasps, scanning the room, “this is _awesome_.”

            “Sam? Dean?” Bobby called from the kitchen, “Is that you?”

            He whispers a small prayer of thanks before following Bobby’s voice. ‘ _If he’s here, he can explain what happened to his place_.’ “Bobby, what’s going…” He gapes openly at his uncle, unable to string together a coherent thought.

            “What’s wrong?” Bobby watches him from the center of the room. His table’s been pushed off to the side, and another paint-splattered tarp and easel sit in its place. Bobby stands before it, flecked in an assortment of colors from his work. His overalls are dirty, and hands and feet their own sort of tie-dye from how much paint has dried on them. And his long, frizzy hair curled just under chin. “Sam?”

            “No,” he whispers, “Not you, too…” ‘ _I should have known_.’

            Bobby was next to Dean on the couch. His eyes were closed, but he must not have been asleep. After waking, he ran to the closest mirror – which was in the _bathroom_. “I really messed up.”

            “All right, Bobby,” Dean smiles, nodding his head, “m’really _feelin_ ’ the _rainbow_. Mind sharing with the class what you’re working on?”

            The older man flashes a grin of his own. “Call it ‘ _Shimmerin’ Sunrise_ ’. I was inspired by these two dudes I met – we dropped acid and watch the sun crest over the hills.” Dean claps, walking closer to inspect the painting.

            ‘ _I need to get control of this situation. Fast._ ’ Sam clears his throat. “Bobby? What – um… what happened to your house? It looks – well, it looks nice but… _different_.”

            “I sure hope so. Took me hours to get the _Feng Shui_ perfect,” he tells them, “Brought in all my work – y’know, to get some positive, creative energy in here. And then I tossed out all my old negative energy.”

            “Negative energy?”

            “Traps, guns, swords,” Bobby says, “anything that could harm another person. My pad was chock-full of that bad juju. And I’m _all_ about the non-violence…” Dean holds a hand out for a high-five, one that Bobby gladly gives.

            Sam’s stomach drops out from under him. “You… you threw out _all_ …” His vision blurs, and he catches himself against the doorjamb before completely fainting. The blood rushes so loudly in his ears he can’t focus on the others, who have now abandoned the art and are focusing on him.

            “Hey, hey dude don’t freak out on me now,” Bobby says, “I mean, not _all_ of it. There are still a few things up in my meditation room.” Sam looks to him, urging him on. “All that spiritual mumbo jumbo helps me connect with nature.”

            “Meditation room?”

            “Down the hall and to the right,” he says, “Mi casa es _su_ casa.” Sam rushes out of the room, following Bobby’s directions. He opens the door to Bobby’s former study, processing the new layout for a lengthy beat.

            His desk is gone, replaced with a mat. There are candles everywhere, and crystals hang from the ceiling. Just like the main room, a few pieces of art hang on the walls. The only thing that hadn’t changed too wildly was the shelf. Its collection has been halved, and a good portion of its books had been replaced with new-age books he barely glanced at. Sam was after one book.

            And it was there.

            “Yes!” Sam pulled it from its place, flipping the pages until he landed on the one with the spell. Except luck was only flirting with him – she wasn’t there to stay. He couldn’t find any step towards breaking the spell on his family. ‘ _Either it says this is the cure_ ,’ he thinks, frowning, ‘ _or that there is no cure. Doesn’t matter though… too faded to understand_.’

            The book was their last hope. Without it, Bobby and Dean were stuck under the spell Sam put them in. ‘ _All because I wanted to pull a prank_ …’ It’s a brief period of doubt, barely enough for him to blink. He follows it up with a large swell of determination and _hope_. “No, I can fix this. I’m Sam _fucking_ Winchester!”

            He opens the book again to the page, re-reading it until something clicks within his mind. The new plot comes together, and he finally smiles.

* * *

             Sam finds them on the couch. He’d be more concerned with the bong sitting between them if he didn’t need them in a comfortable mood for the spell.

            “This is going to work,” Sam tells himself, “You’ll fix everything and apologize and we’ll all be laughing soon.”

            Dean grunted, absorbed by the program on the TV. “What was that Sam?”

            “Nothing! Nothing just – just sit there.” He readies the powder in his hand, going over the words one more time to make sure he has it right.

            The new plan Sam thought up was very much like his first one. Whip up the powder, blow it on them, and make them do what he says. However, there was a twist. His new orders will be a reversal of his previous spell. That _should_ cancel out the effects of his first attempt.

            Sam takes a seat on the chair. “Hey, can you two look at me? I have something to show you…” Like children, the take the bait, falling over themselves to see what he’s holding.

            “What is it Sammy?” Dean asks, “It looks _dusty_.” His nose starts to twitch.

            “Just keep staring,” he says, raising his palm to his face, “Somnum Parere Voce –“

            “ _Achoo!”_ Dean sneezes, blowing the powder directly at Sam. “Sorry, Sam – must’ve been allergies or somethin’…”

            Sam doesn’t respond. The spell takes hold of his mind, suppressing any instinct he has to fight back. He sits there, waiting for anyone’s command to push him where they want.

            Bobby raises a brow at him. “Your brother okay?”

            Dean shakes his head. “He’s been stressed lately, total straight-laced freak. I tell him, ‘Sam, you gotta chill, okay! Be more like me, learn to go with the flow! It’s as easy as that,” he snaps, “But nothin’!”

            An overwhelming calm washes over Sam, soothing away any past worry or doubt. ‘ _Man was I such a bummer_ ,’ he thinks, ‘ _Don’t even know why I was freaking out. This is totally **awesome**!_’ He looks to the others. “Hey, can I get a hit of that?” Sam points at the bong, an easy smile working its way onto his face.

            Dean grins, proudly handing it over to Sam. “Now he gets it! Welcome to paradise, bro!”

            ‘ _Paradise… yeah…_ ’ 

* * *

  _Epilogue_

            “Alright, I think she’s done.” Bobby dries his hands on his shirt, smearing handprints down it. Dean, Sam, and Castiel watch him from the porch, sitting comfortably on the beanbags they dragged out there. Dean lies across the angel’s lap in a hoodie and board shorts, letting Castiel braid his hair while he rests his feet on Sam.

            In the month that followed since the second spell, Sam has grown to appreciate the new outlook on life the rest of his family has. He borrowed one of Dean’s shirts to wear under his unbuttoned plaid, and tore the bottom half of his jeans off.

            “She looks beautiful, Bobby,” Dean calls out, “Really nice job!”

            Bobby slaps the hood of the van twice. “Some of my best work yet, my dudes.”

            Now that they’re retired, the Winchesters had the rest of their lives to do whatever they wanted. They spent the first week at Bobby’s. Sam was perfect for meditation, he and Bobby sometimes spending hours holed away in the meditation room together just _breathing_. Dean wasn’t as adept, filled with too much energy to sit still for a few minutes. Instead he flourished in the arts, joining his uncle in painting and sculpture building. Bobby handed him a sketchpad, and it’s rarely left his hands. But the boys weren’t content in Sioux Falls.

            “We’re free spirits, Bobby,” Dean said, “We need to _roam_. Soar like a motherfucking _eagle_. To swim with the dolphins! How’re we gonna swim in _South_ _Dakota_? There’s no ocean!”

            Sam suggested their destination. “California coastline,” he sighed, “surf some waves, relax on the beach, meet some chicks… what more could you ask for? I’m sure we can find a home there.”

            Although Dean didn’t think Baby had it in her for their new lifestyles. “We ain’t pipsqueaks anymore,” he told her, rubbing her chassis affectionately, “We’ll break our backs sleeping in you night after night.”

            ‘ _It’s only fitting if she retires, too_ ,’ Sam thought, ‘ _Poetic_.’ Dean tore off her license plate, handing it over to Bobby to put on their new ride.

            An old, beat-up VW van – “Almost like the one John was gonna buy!” Dean crowed from on top of it. Their new ride was in serious need of a makeover: both internal and externally. Each man had a job. Dean would focus on fixing the engine. Sam cleaned and redecorated the interior, stocking it with their clothes and junk. Bobby, with the most important task, was to paint the exterior.

            The colors were so vibrant, Sam was sure he saw a few he couldn’t name.

            “We’re gonna be the coolest people, cruising down the highway,” Dean says, skipping around the van, inspecting it from all angles before hopping into the passenger seat. Cas already made himself comfortable in the back, hidden behind the beaded curtains.

            “I’d be happy to accompany you,” he told them, after popping into Bobby’s a few nights ago, “With Heaven running much more smoothly, my presence has not been required for quite some time.”

            “Really?” Dean asked, leaning in to drop a kiss on his neck, “Then where were you all this time?”

            “ _Meeting_ new people,” he shrugged, smirking “A village in Italy… on the streets of a Chinese city… Melbourne, Copenhagen, _Denver_.”

            Sam was awed. “You’ve gotta take us globe-hopping one day.”

            “Gladly.”

            Bobby hands Sam the keys. “You sure you don’t want to come with us?” he asks his uncle, “Pretty sure we can squeeze you in the back.”

            “Nah,” Bobby chuckles, “I’ve got too much stuff. Plus I’ve still got a lot left to paint… maybe when I finish.”

            “And when will that be?”

            “That’s for the fates to decide.” They hugged tightly. “Now, don’t be a stranger.”

            “We won’t.” Bobby left them, walking back inside the house. Sam gets into the driver’s seat, turning the ignition. The engine roars to life.

            Dean, with his bare feet propped on the dashboard, winks at him. “ _Beautiful_.”

            Sam looks into the rearview mirror, watches Cas spread out like a jellyfish on the shag carpeting, making angels in the fabric. ‘ _Finally, we’ve found some peace_.’

            They drive out into the sunset, ready for their new lives.

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a wild ride! I hope y'all enjoyed it - I had a blast writing it. Drop a kudos/comment to let me know what you thought!


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